


Wingless Angel

by TheHobbitsAragone



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Celebrian fades because I wrote it that way, Confused about sexual orientation, F/M, Lmao I literally spoiled the story, M/M, Miruvoir solves all your problems, Past mention of death of Thranduil's wife, Poor guy needs a break, Stay strong Elrond, Thranduil being useful for once, Thranduil you better take good care of Elrond, Two incredibly oblivious gays
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-17
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-11-22 20:00:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18141113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheHobbitsAragone/pseuds/TheHobbitsAragone
Summary: Elrond- our beloved elf-lord. Strong, wise, and kind. But when tragedy strikes, who will be there to help him?A wingless angel...





	Wingless Angel

“Be strong for me, meleth…”

“No! Don’t leave, Celebrian! Lasto beth nin, tolo dan nan galad! Hodo. Le beriathar aen. Dartho, aniron!” Elrond begged, unable to hold back tears as he witnessed his wife fade in his shaking arms. The love of his life, the mother of his children, the flame of his fea was fading, and he could do nothing to prevent it. The pain rendered him weak, and he despised his own helplessness. Already he could feel himself slowly beginning to fade, but to see his beloved’s skin turn deathly pale and hear her beautiful voice grow weak and hoarse in moans of pain and delirious mutterings was even more torturous.

“L-le melin, Elrond…”

The words, though spoken in soft whispers, rang loudly in Elrond’s ears. He couldn’t feel anything but the absence of that most natural thing which had always been there: his wife’s heartbeat thudding reassuringly in sync with his own. He frantically felt for a pulse though he knew it was not there, muttering in disbelief and shaking Celebrian’s body as if to wake her, but her hands remained cold and her eyes glazed.

A heartbreaking cry resounded through the halls of Imladris, followed by a piercing moment of silence before the whole city’s voice raised in lament.

She was gone.

* * *

The ruler’s office was seldom so unorganized. Papers of the utmost importance were strewn carelessly across the floor and the sharp remains of a shattered ink pot were left on the desk, the black substance that once filled the pot drying up on the polished wood. The elf lord himself was sitting back defeatedly in his chair, toying with a piece of broken glass even as it cut through his hardened skin. His gaze was unfocused and hard to read, the way it always was whenever he was thinking deeply. The scent of the small, stuffy room -old books and well-brewed tea- that always comforted him had turned pungent with the smell of his own sweat and blood. He rarely left the room these days- it was the only place that didn’t carry her sweet scent and drive him insane.

“May I come in?”

Thranduil. The stubborn man who had initially been reluctant to become his friend and now simply wouldn’t leave him alone.

Elrond sighed. He hadn’t been expecting a visit so soon, given how far away Mirkwood is. If he had been in a better state of mind, he would have been moved by the effort that Thranduil had put into visiting him as soon as possible. If he had been better composed, he would have stood and opened the door for his guest, calling immediately for the Miruvoir that his friend seems so fond of. For now, though, he settled for an affirmative grunt.

The door opened and closed gently, and the small part of Elrond’s brain that was still working told him to stop acting like a petulant elfling and appreciate Thranduil’s consideration. Usually, he would have walked right through with a half finished bottle of wine in his hand, launching into a rant about the many flights of stairs that he’d had to climb to get to “this damned broom closet”.

“Well, hello to you too,” the king gave Elrond a playful smile as he sat down on a stool, brandishing the item he’d been carrying behind his back- a well aged bottle of Miruvoir, surprisingly untouched. Elrond rolled his eyes fondly before declining his friend’s generous offer.

“My one triumph these few days has been to avoid succumbing to such vices before I fade. Do you want to crush that one small victory as well?”

“And whose victory would it be? If there is one thing that I have learned in my long life, it is that wine-” a loud popping sound came as the cork flew off “- may make a fool of you, but it certainly drives away such ridiculous thoughts as fading.” Elrond doesn’t know where Thranduil had gotten the glasses from, or when he had poured drinks for them, but he was acutely aware of the full glass of wine that Thranduil was patiently waiting for him to take.

“You think that I jest,” Elrond said with no real curiosity, taking a sip of his drink as requested and feeling a bit sullen as Thranduil’s prediction came true. Even the slight warmth of one sip made him forget the slight physical pain that signified the beginning of the fading process.

“And you forget that I speak from experience,” Thranduil said smoothly, taking a sip of his drink to appear nonchalant. He always tried to hide behind his mask whenever he felt any pain. Elrond knew this better than anyone else.

Finally, Thranduil dropped his act, heaving a long and weary sigh.

“Elrond…” he began, struggling to choose his words for the first time in his life. One word and his dear old friend could collapse in agony, beginning to fade.

“She was a good woman, and you were good to her. That is all that matters.” Simple and short, that’s how he did it. He knew that all the words left unsaid were heard by the both of them. There was no need to cause his friend to shed more tears when he clearly didn’t have the strength to do so. Thranduil redirected his thoughts away from Elrond’s poor state. His strong body that now seemed so small as it disappeared in his thick robes. The new wrinkles that creased his hot forehead. The sickly, yellow tone of his skin, beaded with sweat. Oh no, none of that. Everything was perfectly fine.

Suddenly, Elrond spoke up.

“Night after night, the restless thoughts come to me. Should I have let her go before her suffering began? Was it my fault that she’d been captured by those foul beasts? Has she forgiven me?”

Tears flowed from his eyes, but he didn’t make a sound. His air of resignation had been replaced by fresh feelings of hurt and sadness, and Thranduil struggled to hide his own emotions. He had to be strong for both of them.

“You mustn’t say such things!” Thranduil was suddenly alarmed at the volume of his own voice. Elrond shook his head, not wanting to hear any of it. There was a tense moment of silence, before Thranduil took a deep breath and spoke up in a much softer voice.

“Do you remember when you came to my side to comfort me all those years ago?”

Elrond perked up, surprised that Thranduil would breach such an intimate subject. His wife’s death, though having occurred thousands of years ago, still affected him greatly. He prepared himself to listen. Whatever Thranduil meant to say was clearly serious.

“You cared for Legolas and listened to my heartbroken words. You never flinched away when I descended into a drunken rage, nor when I cried like a child. You held me when I couldn’t sleep, when the shadows of the night called back her ghost, and I couldn’t…” a pause as the elf collected himself, careful not to let his voice break. Deep breaths and shaky exhales, and then he continued.

“I want to help you, mellon. The same way that you helped me. Let me take the hurt away.”

The king was kneeling in front of Elrond’s seated figure, his face inches away from the other’s. His emotions that he usually meticulously schooled into an indifferent mask were now bursting through his light-colored eyes.

“Please.”

Neither of them knew exactly what happened at this point. Who had moved in first? Who had broken the unspoken barrier that had existed between them so long? All Elrond could know for certain was that they were doing something wrong.

But how could it feel so right?

Why was it that the feeling of Thranduil’s soft lips on his own had made him smile for the first time in the past few days? Why had his sad little heart begun pounding anew, when all it had been doing up until this moment was to hurt and ache?

Why was he kissing back?

He didn’t know, and he didn’t try to force himself to figure things out. Elrond only melted into Thranduil’s embrace, trusting him, quite literally, with his soul.

They say that an angel with severed wings can fly higher than all the rest, because he can stoop to help those who kneel on the floor. That night, Thranduil was Elrond’s wingless angel.

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, I know I used some Elvish in the beginning. Don't let that intimidate you.  
> "Meleth"= love (term of endearment)  
> "Lasto beth nin, tolo dan nan galad! Hodo. Le beriathar aen. Dartho, aniron!"= Listen to my words, return to the light! Rest. You will be protected. Please, stay!  
> "Le melin"= I love you  
> "Mellon"= friend  
> Here's my source for my poorly done translations: http://www.elvish.org/gwaith/movie_fotr.htm  
> I also realize that this chapter had great potential for a soft and fluffy lemon but I don't do those so if anyone wants to do that please be my guest cuz we all know that both Elrond and Thranduil deserve some lovin'


End file.
